


Hearts of the Past

by FingolfinSilme, SongOfTheLostSea



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AND DRAMA, Adventure, Always listen to Elrond, And Gil-Galad, Bribing Elrond with food, Chance Meetings, Chasing dreams, Disturbing Elrond's meetings, Drinking loads of tea, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Fear of the past, Fingon's daughter, Friendship, Ice Cream, Imaginary swordfight, Maybe even a little romance..., Memories of Gondolin, Mental face palm, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Past mentions of Fingon, Potentially prophetic dream, Rivendell | Imladris, Second Age, The Art and Intricacies of Weather Articulations, With some angst attached, loads of crying, poor erestor, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 14:45:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10515861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FingolfinSilme/pseuds/FingolfinSilme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongOfTheLostSea/pseuds/SongOfTheLostSea
Summary: When Glorfindel runs out into the wild, following the uncertain track of a dream he believes was sent to him by the Valar, he meets Seregìel Silme, sister to the King. Both choking on the pain of their past and trapped in their own lonely worlds, they decide to make a change and set out together on the paths of fate.





	1. Chapter 1

The burning carried on as Seregìel rode away through the trees. She held her sword tight to her side, and her eyes darted in every direction, scared to meet the ones of an enemy. She tasted salt water, and by the time she had wiped the tears away, the trees in front had started burning and the stallion was screaming and rearing wildly. She fell off, rolling to the ground. She saw her Father in the flames, dying, like in the stories Daeron told. She struggled to her feet and ran after the horse that had fled in another direction. The flames trapped her in a clearing. She heard shrieks like battle cries. Suddenly, she thought she was going to die, her skin burnt or her throat cut, she didn't know.

Everything was so confusing. Some of her cousins were with them, and the others against and she was scared that she would get it wrong and end up fighting for the wrong side. Leaping through the trees, she saw a familiar face, but she did not cry out. He turned towards her and saw her standing there, helpless. "Maedhros..." She started, trying to find a way of knowing what he defended. He bolted into the clearing.  
“What are you doing here?” He asked, seemingly surprised. “I don’t want to kill you, so you’d better run off...quickly!”

She did what she was told and hurried off in the opposite direction. Wolves howled around her, corpses were scattered around the forest ground where Elwë's guards had tried to push the Enemy away. Suddenly, the forest was gone and the stars replaced the leaves. She glanced behind her shoulder. It was as if nothing had happened, from here. It was silent and the fire was just smoke in the sky. She stumbled over a rock and fell, rolling down a hill.  
She started laughing as she tasted the perfume of the grass. Wasn't that what she had always wanted? Run away from that wretched place and run in the vast plains, and be free, free like a bird, free just the way she was in the Havens.

When she sat up, her body hurt all over and she couldn't see properly. She crawled towards a pile of rocks and rested her head against the cold stone. Her nose was probably broken, and maybe also her left wrist, and her right shoulder burnt where there was a black hole in her shirt. She chuckled gently and pushed herself up and jumped to stand on the rocks.  
"You can try and catch me, I am like water, I am a shadow, I am sunshine, I am air, never, ever, ever again." She screamed in the wind, hoping her words would travel back to the place she had fled.  
The days after were blurs. She wandered around, all the power of her will gone. She realised how stupid she had been. She had nothing to keep her safe save her sword and a dagger. Her movements were slow from the fighting and running and falling and burning. After a few day's march, there was a forest again, and even though she had no idea of where she was, she plunged deep in the trunks and when she esteemed she was far enough inside, she climbed a large oak and fell asleep in the dark branches.

A year passed and she toughened up, her arms growing strong and her senses becoming keen. She started to learn how to survive. Game and water and shelter and herbs. She tried forgetting what she now called before. Only, the voices were always there to remind her what a coward she had been.  
The years all came and left. She was content with the life she led. She met with her brother every now and then, and she felt strong and fearless.

Then one night, it was raining, and the low rumble of thunder was heard in the distance. There was light and smoke not so far ahead. She had searched everywhere for some sort of cave, but the land was dreadful. The only shelter she could find was in the village in the valley below, but she had no money, no game to trade, and no one would take her in because of the mess her clothes were in.

Maybe it was just a coincidence, or the Valar had finally granted her some luck, but she heard hoofbeats coming from the trees behind. Her first instinct was to hide, but the trees weren't strong enough at the edge of the woods. She retreated into the shadows of a bush. A man, richly clothed, was mounted on a majestic steed. He stopped in front of her, seemingly trying to find his way. His cloak seemed to be made of gold and even though it was raining harder than ever, it didn't seem wet. But what caught Seregìel's attention was the gold linings, which she also saw on the saddle and reins. An idea sprang to her mind. There wasn't much hope otherwise. She took her dagger from her belt and hid it behind her back before springing out of the bushes in front of the man. The steed neighed in surprise and the man jumped.  
"Good evening, sir. Maybe I can assist you in finding your way?"  
The man, at first taken aback, now looked amused.  
"Move off, girl, I can see the village, I'm not blind."  
He pressed his mount forward, but before he had gone far, Seregìel had dropped to her knees and started to sob violently. The man turned in his saddle and seeing her, the knees in the mud, he slid off and approached carefully. He laid a hand on her shoulder, and just as he was about to whisper some comforting words in her ear and ask her what was wrong, Seregìel's dagger was at his throat.  
"Your cloak and your horse." She said slyly.  
These must have been dear to him, as the man tried pushing away and was fumbling for some weapon at his waist.  
"You...won't...get away with this..." He breathed, his voice angry. "I'll kill you..."  
He apparently didn't know what he was saying. The dagger was at his throat, after all. He had been warned enough. Seregìel slit his throat open. Warm blood trickled down her hands and the body fell face down in the mud. She stripped the man of his cloak and searched his pockets before jumping up onto his steed. She pushed it forward and descended into the valley. She smiled in satisfaction at the heavy leather pouch she'd found.

At the inn, she pushed it onto the counter.  
"Dinner and a room." She said, but just as the innkeeper was about to lead her to a table, she felt a hand on her shoulder pushing her ruefully back. She turned around, a hand on the hilt of her sword. Two armed men were behind her.  
"Keep the gold." One of them told the innkeeper before dragging her outside, holding her arms tight behind her back.  
Under the porch, they pulled the hood of the stolen away from her head. The guards opened wide eyes as they saw her, a teenager.  
"She killed him?" One asked, sniggering. He lifted her hands up to his face and saw the blood.  
"You saw like I did." The other answered. "Girl, you'll regret what you just did."  
"I am Seregìel, daughter of Fingon, sister to the King, so I would advise you to guard your tongue or you'll end up like your friend." She declared, nose in the air.  
"She's the King's sister?" The first one exclaimed, incredulous.

She was pulled along dark streets, trying to struggle out of the soldier’s grip all the way, cursing and screaming in frustration.  
They reached a great wooden door. The second guard knocked. Another one, dressed all in silver, answered the door.  
They led her to a great room where men were sat around a table. At the end of the latter, there she saw him.  
"Ereinion!!!" She cried out as her brother looked up. She pulled away from the guards and ran to him, regardless of the stares of the counsellors.  
A smile touched the King’s lips but he quickly resumed to his stern face as he saw the guards. He stood up and grabbed Seregìel’s arm as she ran towards him.  
“Please excuse me an instant.” He told the councillors. “What did you do again?” He said under his breath. He nodded with a smile at the guards and they followed into the courtyard.  
As they explained what had happened, Seregìel looked down at her feet, ashamed and angry. He dismissed the two guards.  
“I’ll deal with it.” He assured them. He turned to his sister, one brow raised and his face desperate. “As if I didn’t have enough problems… Do you not have anything else better to do? What am I going to do with you?” His tone was calm, but his jaw was clenched. Seregìel was suddenly scared of him.  
“Fine, you don’t have to tell me… I know it’s bad. I...I’m sorry.” She fell silent, careful not to meet his eyes.  
“Sorry is not enough.” He sighed. “I don’t want you to get in any trouble… I’ll finish my meeting, and you’ll stay upstairs. Then we can calmly deal with it. And stop calling me Ereinion.” He was about to lead her across the court but she pushed away violently.  
“Oh, true, you’re the King. I must do as you say!” She hated it when he acted all lordly and noble. It was not the true him.  
Gil-Galad opened wide eyes and tried putting his hand on her shoulder. “Seregìel, I just wanted to help you. If you prefer being an outlaw, then I won’t stop you. But maybe you think Ada would be proud of you like that, Princess.” With that, he whipped around and opened the doors of the Council Hall.

Seregìel stared after him. He knew how much his words had hurt, and he probably thought she would stay.  
“Fine! Anyway, I don’t need you! Go back to your stupid business, I don’t even care!” She screamed just as the doors closed. She ran to the stables and saddled Elenath, her steed she had left in Lindon a few months before.  
She glanced back one last time before riding away into the night, wanting to go as far away from her brother as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

The wind tore through the forest, raking the autumn leaves from the trees and sending them skittering up into the frosted air. Glorfindel shivered, tugging his thin cloak further around his frigid body. He should have dressed warmer. He should have realised despite his own wishes that autumn was upon them and winter fast approaching.  
Above him, the sky cracked with thunder, and he winced, feeling his white stallion stiffen beneath him. “Shh, Asfaloth,” he soothed, although he was not sure if he was comforting the horse or himself. Something about the storm set his teeth on edge and sent shivers racking up his back.  
Leaning forward, he touched Asfaloth’s sides and the two of them sped off, heading down the winding dirt path that led to the town. They needed shelter. If not from the storm than from whatever invisible presence seemed to lurk in that dark forest.  
It seemed to take far too long to reach the town, but at last Glorfindel drew Asfaloth to a halt in front of the inn door. He glanced once over his shoulder, and his eyes rose to the sky, tracing over the swirling grey clouds. It was a dream, nothing more. A little voice said inside his head. Turn back. But he could not.  
….  
Inside the inn was warm and softly lit. A bright fire crackled in the corner and travellers sat sprawled around it, mugs of ale overflowing in their hands.  
Glorfindel sank down into one of the chairs, his head resting against the wooden frame as he closed his eyes for a moment. His whole body felt chilled and a bitter sense of despair was beginning to grow in the depths of his stomach. He had been a fool. A blind and stupid fool who was so drunk on the past he could no longer tell dreams from reality. It was a cold a bitter truth, and it hit hard—gashing open the old wounds he had tried so hard to mend; fighting each day to stitch them up and to forget.  
And so, as the rain began to pour outside and the wind lashed against the dirty glass windows, Glorfindel drowned himself in the cheap ale from the barrel behind the bar.  
The world blurred before him and as his mind slowly grew sluggish and slow, his worries vanished into the swirling golden liquid that frothed in his mug.  
He did not know how long he sat there. Time was irrelevant—a distant rule that no longer applied to his world.  
But at some point, late into the night, a blurred figure swam into view before his half-lidded eyes.  
“Have had far too much…will have to carry…mindless drunks…”  
“Aye, …last thing we need’s another one of those wanderers. Remember that one? Rambling on about a daughter of Fingon….sister to the king…”  
Words echoed in his hollow mind as he drifted in and out of consciousness. They made little sense, distant and fragmented as they were, but one word caught in his mind, tickling a sort of memory. Fingon. It was important, he was sure, but blackness was creeping up on his mind, stealing him away into an endless darkness.  
…..  
That night Glorfindel had no dreams, but when he awoke he felt a strange aura in the air around him. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the alcohol, making themselves known along with the blinding headache he found pressing against his skull. But no…there was something else. Not for the first time, he found himself regretting the previous night’s indulgences. Perhaps if he had not drunken so much he would be better able to piece this strange mystery together.  
And then it hit him. Fingon… A name, his cousin. Could it just be a coincidence? His drunken mind skewing things so that they appeared to fulfil his wild desires. But maybe….maybe there was a chance.  
Sitting up in the bed he had somehow gotten to the night before, Glorfindel threw back the covers and hurriedly dressed; only stopping a moment to splash his face with water in the stone basin that sat in the corner of his room before grabbing his belongings and racing downstairs.  
The inn was warm and bustling once more; the tables filled with well-worn travellers enjoying a morning ale over breakfast. But Glorfindel ignored them. Head pounding from his hasty descent, Glorfindel hurried over to the bartender, leaning against the counter to steady his shaky legs.  
“Do you know anything about the daughter of Fingon?” he blurted out, ignoring the annoyed looks he was receiving from the two men working there.  
“Daughter of Fingon, eh?” one said, squinting at Glorfindel. “Hey…are you that drunk from last night? The one they had to drag up to bed after he passed out?”  
Glorfindel ignored him, fishing in his pocket for his money pouch. Desperation had taken hold and he could not stop himself as his hand slid into the pouch and produced several large shiny coins. Slamming the money down on the table, he met the barkeep’s eyes with a steady gaze. “I said, do you know anything about the daughter of Fingon,” he repeated, his voice dangerously low.  
The man’s eyes widened as he took in the coins before him. A greedy smile twisted his chapped lips and he quickly swiped the coins across the counter. “Well…in that case…what do you want to know?”  
…..  
The bitter wind had returned, sending tiny ice crystals biting against every bit of exposed flesh. Glorfindel’s eyes were red-rimmed and bleary—half-shuttered against the constant bombardment. Asfaloth seemed to shudder beneath him, his ears flicking back and forth the way they did when he sensed some form of danger. Glorfindel stiffened, trying to see through the darkness that cloaked the old forest. Only the day before he had turned away, swearing not to return to those dark woods. But the words of the barman had spurred him onwards.  
Asfaloth nickered nervously, tossing his head and sending little droplets of half-frozen water flying into Glorfindel’s face. Biting back a grunt of annoyance, Glorfindel wiped a hand across his brow and leaned forward, giving Asfaloth a gentle pat of reassurance on his muscled shoulder.  
A strange uneasiness seemed to have settled over the two of them, shrouding them in what Glorfindel could only call a ‘weird and uncertain wrongness.’  
He slid from the saddle, unconsciously reaching for the hilt of his sword as he slipped silently to the ground; his leather boots making no noise against the sodden leaves that covered the forest floor.  
A few whispered words kept Asfaloth at bay, hidden behind a cluster of thick oaks. Glorfindel sucked in his breath and let it out slowly, watching as the moisture turned to frosty smoke in the chilled night air. Almost without thought, he walked onwards. His feet moved without conscious command, pulling him forwards—deeper into the dense forest. The strange energy was all around him now, like the aura of electricity caught in the air before lightning strikes. He swallowed and a shiver ran through him, causing the tips of his fingers to tremble against the hilt of his sword.  
Then, with deadly accuracy, the lighting struck. A rustle of leaves, the whoosh of a cloak whipping in the wind—and Glorfindel found the tip of an arrow biting into his chest.


End file.
